Private Tales The Frozen Cabal

[Ostrum Brandish]

Howling winds tinged with frost did make their passage across the heights of the Spine, from thinning airs was much chill imparted across those who pressed on through such hazards. Heavy cloak swaddled those who did presently press mountain boot upon stone face imposing, as these freezing winds did buffet their course, as if directed to confound and provide consternation individually to each that drove on and up. This small band of ten were concealed well by virtue of their garb, pale white wools upon entrenched snows, their determination much to breach this driven wind, to lay eyes and lay out plans to those who were known to meet and thrive upon outlaw life in such hostile lands. Yet they were seen by eyes unmoved and uncaring of their plot to profit from their recent acquisitions, to seek sanctuary in the syndicate that did make their ventures thrive from such location. These that drove themselves up the mountain were a desperate band who knew that such an organisation did exist. These that strived up the mountain carried stolen goods of arcane import but lacked the wits to command such pilfered items, and had no wisdom or method to curry favour from this criminal hub that did lurk within the Spine's columns. These ten did press forward, knowing that no fence would provide them the profit they so desired from such items stolen from noble arcane houses. And were so committed to their ends.

Such a syndicate that they did seek were known as, 'The Frozen Cabal' in honour of their method to protect their way of criminal enterprise and gleaning of cargos illicit. They were not eager to welcome such brazen and direct ambition on display. This band of ten had not courted those who held the keys. They did not supplicate the self made bandit lords of this Frozen Cabal. So faced all dissuading forces to turn away.

Yet this was their last resort, to hope that they might bargain with the winds themselves to strike a deal with this cabal that might reward them for their audacious haul.

The organisation had their arteries of smuggled and stolen cargos, they had their aspirations set on secrecy and were not eager to indulge in these who did fight such driven winds. It was true that the Frozen Cabal were becoming a public secret, yet those who were not deemed desirable to their plots and ends were denied by driven freezing winds, smothered by overwhelming avalanches, and more direct fates from stone faced guardians that did peer out and command the weather.

More direct threat by discerning, scornful persons did stand ready to mete out rejection. It was decided in weirding communications across vantage and hidden route by these look outs sinister. The scouts that did attend the statues pressed their palms upon the rock, and much was set in dooming decree.

These that pressed on, ten in number, did not warrant the falling great plates of snow to bury them deep it had been judged. Such required much power, and had recently been performed. The wellspring that fuelled such unerring defenses was strong, yet should not be bluntly used it had been decided. The traditional refusal was in order.

These that did venture could see the illumination of distant pairs of light spark into life, numerous and confusingly unreal. The statues could be seen as distant shimmering eyes of pure silver that did baleful gaze produce. Their bodies set in stone and placed upon laylines of magic, drawing strength from concordant lurking wellspring as they were compelled to fulfil their duties.

The stone statues as one did rise to the occasion, a tunnelling of energy through these rarefied airs from bejewelled beaming eyes towards these brazen ten. The laylines did thrum with power from wellspring unknown and secret, and the ten were struck upon by such stone born vision. By virtue of the Frozen Cabal's refusal of their advance, all previous rejections born from wind ignored, were these desperate ten frozen in place by pure focused power as they did with empowered gaze arrest these interlopers.

No hope of thawing to be had as they did turn brittle, and shattered from the howling winds that did pressure them in pieces away from this secluded and protected sanctuary.

The statues dulled their vision, and awaited their next moment to deny this ground to any that did wish to interrupt the ways of the Frozen Cabal.

---

Upon firmament beyond such perceptions of statue or snow sheltered criminal enterprise, within a cave mouth that once was host to ice trolls, did three enter and make themselves shelter and preparations. The walls themselves had crude markings of their former dwellers, scratched out depictions of their own horrid faces carved on the walls that did seem to taunt those three inside.

“This be the place I was informed of, those that wish to uproot this Frozen Cabal shall meet us here at some point tonight,” Ostrum did say as he entered first, immediately going about making the cave more habitable and serviceable to their ends. The cold was not as fierce as it would be closer to their objective, the wellspring some miles in height and breadth away according to rough intelligence so shared, yet the dying sunlight would bring much firmer chills upon them.

Ostrum tossed out bones old and gnawed from their temporary shelter, and set about arranging firewood brought for this purpose from his back so set down. Some coins spent on fuel arcane infused, three small thin logs that could become host to much heat, were placed carefully in triangle in the heart of this small cave.

A notion of magic from his left hand, and the logs did turn cherry red, giving off what heat was required in steady pulse to give comfort to this band so gathered. Ostrum did not waste time about it, setting meats and other foods to readiness for cooking, slices of dense meats, eggs, potatoes. He knew the business that they embarked upon would require much of them. Morale must be maintained with these sellswords so gathered he did think, and so he had prepared much in the way of vittels before the conflict to come. He placed salt very visible to Vandor about his ingredients arranged, purchased with his taste in mind.

“We've made good and safe time I do think,” Ostrum said to his two fellows. “You march well on mountain face, both of you. Give me a moment to set a dinner. You've more than earned it so keeping such worthy paces,” Ostrum did say, seemingly tireless in moving from need to need. In truth, he was not so used to mountain travels, yet was firmly committed to conquering this mission in each stage before them, and well engrained was his endurance from years of preperations of such hard ventures. There would be rest in due time. He knew if he placed his back against the stone he might have to conquer his want to rest with a fierceness that was reserved for the combats to come.

“This wellspring shall be thwarted in due time,” Ostrum did say in determination as he set about what cookware he had brought, new accomodations purchased for his band of sellswords so paid and supplied. He did shake his hands to gain feeling within them for such precise work, and set his hands out to the fire for a time before he continued.

“I sincerely hope the mercenaries that are stalled by this wellspring's defenses, the statues connected to the wellspring, send what envoy in good time,” Ostrum did say, looking to his companions in this matter, Vandor and Rodin, as he did release his fingertips from numbness.

From yawning mouth of the cave could one see much of the spine, both below spanning and in the distance rising, snow capped in thick shroud of white that did mock the light snows at this present height. The occasional cry of snow hawk could be heard beyond mundane sight as the sun did slowly bid it's goodbyes.

“Well, Rodin, you wished to see the Spine,” Ostrum said and made dry attempt at giving sign of good humour, “What make you of such sights?”

A sizzling began as Ostrum made industrious to the matter of supplying these gathered mercenaries more than gold, compliment and inquiries to their moods at being upon and within the Spine's domain.

The depictions of troll faces did remain contorted and still, black smudges upon the rock that seemed amused by such conversations that did not bray from foul tongue but were politely delivered in earnest to their collected task.

Rodin Graveworn
Vandor Colton
Karken

 

[Rodin Graveworn]

Rodin witnessed the glorious expanse of snow and ice broken only to rocky facades across the perilous landscape. Never before had he witnessed such a backdrop, certainly this was worlds apart from the Isles of Sheketh. Where volcanic cauldrons spewed molten rock and hot springs babbled gently away to the north. He shivered. Yes, this was far from home.

Rodin brought himself away from the mouth of the cave and studied the simplistic characters carved into the walls. With a smile and small piece of charcoal from his satchel in hand; he added a little human to the entourage of ice Trolls. A simple stick figure, but with enough character to look the part against the previous artists attempts. He smirked, took a thumb and offered it up to Ostrum, as if making a note of his features in jest.

“Certainly beats the bucket of blood for an evening.” Rodin took another long glance at the backdrop, watching the fluid turning motions of the lone snow hawk against the rising columns of air. “Breathtaking.”

Finishing the ‘masterpiece’ he found himself shivering against the bitter wind. He pulled his bearskin cloak around himself some more, and shuffling himself towards the fireplace he made note of the meats on offer for supper. His large muscular frame also brought with it a hearty appetite and he was pleased to see the Ostrum had a healthy amount available for everyone. He sat beside the warmth of the fireplace, watching the dancing flames twirl and flicker themselves in and out of existence. The soothing heat soon found its way into his bones, and despite the howling winds outside, the cave became a little haven sheltered from all sides.

A comfortable silence fell between the three, as supper hissed away in a pan and crackled with burning fats. Their shadows cast against the cave walls, amongst the teeth of stalagmites and stalactites that glistened with powdered snow. The cave went further back than just the hollow in which they sat. The light touched only a slight portion of it, but it was evident that the previous occupants were long gone. Old bones lined several partitions of the cave, and Rodin found himself studying the quarry. Mostly human and dwarf remains, a few carcasses of horses and mountain goat lay strewn across the place also. The previous tenants were not too hot on their housekeeping it seemed.

Rodin sat cross-legged by the fireplace, taking in its glow. He had a moment or two before supper would be ready, so took the time to check over his sword. The hilt wrapped in leather bracing, guard was well used and although sturdy and fixed tightly in place, it bore the scars of warfare. The blade, however was pristine. It was enchanted with eternal sharpness, which despite the many years of combat it had seen, it had remained true. The blade itself was double edged, working its way to a point and blood groove down the centre spine. An elegantly balanced weapon. Simple yet truly efficient in its operation. Rodin was pleased to have such an item to his arsenal.

There was much he wanted to ask about the upcoming venture. But he knew better than to ask questions on an empty stomach. Things would wait, and given the fact that they were still awaiting a few others to join it would be prevalent to await the full number before questioning began. Any insight to the plan of action would be advantageous he thought. His job was simple enough for now, keep a watchful eye over the food. After supper, there would be much time for talk.

Rodin reached his belt and produced a small flask, decanting some of the contents into a horn he offered it around to the others to warm themselves. The liquid was a small heating potion of warming broth. It would heal small wounds and provide a boost to morale whilst providing a hearty warmth that lasted several hours. One of the few potions he had managed to curate before they ventured to the spine. Come this evening we’ll need the heat. He thought, looking out once again to the flurry that had begun to work it’s way across the entrance.

“Vandor, have either of you ventured this far across the spine before?”

Die Shize
Ostrum Brandish
Vandor Colton
Karken
Agatha

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Music OOC/Ambience IC

One did not simply walk across the Spine. There were dangers that lurked in these mountains beyond trolls. From goblins and their kindred villains on a toll bridge wherein a knight and a sellsword did deliver justice and judgment, the rains that did fall upon them were as wet as the air was warm, surrounded by forest. Quest accomplished for a task of two, who turned into an evening of nourishment and merriment in a tavern, but the Surly Pig was surely a distant memory amid this cavernous scene and a task of three.

A mercenary, he was, Vandor Colton, though once upon a time he did have the opportunity to turn himself into Sir Vandor Colton as the bells did chime. However, to hell with that, for the path to knighthood was one bludgeoned with bitter memory, bloodied by his history with deception and corruption from bandits against his family and knights who did nothing.

So, no, while he did not begrudge the man's occupation, and held no resentment for the Enshrined Knight in his presence given that Ostrum Brandish was a knight of chivalry proven, perhaps this other mercenary may be someone he could relate to. Then again, Vandor had also met his fair share of scummy sellswords, and this coming from someone who did not much care what the job was, as long as he got paid at the end of the day.

Ostrum knew this. He knew whose service he had asked with his tasks time and again. Vandor Colton would kiss a woman on her lips, bed her, both embellished in enjoyment of the moment, but also slit her throat if that was his employment and the coin was worth it. Yet he was no wicked individual and, if Sir Ostrum Brandish would never hire him for such dirty work, so be it, dirt would not be returned to his contractor, and the man never broke the word of his contract.

He thought on this, having little else to do but think when it came to this cave, passing time like the rays of daylight. Firelight danced like he almost had back in that tavern, but the violin had brought him the serenity of sitting still till it was bedtime. The Surly Pig. He remembered it and the face of the woman he had bedded. Would that I could remember her name. He did not sit at this moment. He did not stand. Rather, he leaned on one elbow, laying down on the ground, breaking slender twigs between his fingers to cast them into the flames, throw it into the fire, and watch as they blazed away before his eyes.

The scent of eggs and potatoes did drift up his nostrils, and he would be given his full, for Ostrum knew how to swing sword as much as shift knife and fork. Though, the scent of bacon wasn't mistaken. Vandor remembered another forest before the bridge, waking up one morning to find that his companion and contractor had delivered him rashers of bacon that had tasted better than any tavern's. That did make his stomach rumble, as much as he remembered goblins who did tumble into a river.

For the sellsword also knew how to swing sword, sheathed in the scabbard by his side, by his shield that could cast lightning and crack like thunder when the occasion warranted it. For the moment, however, he simply watched those flames as his fellow mercenary painted faces on the rock wall of the cave.

Salt and rock. There was salt that Ostrum had decided might be fine to tease Vandor with before the feast. There were scrawled on the walls those troll faces, also with human by the hand of Rodin. The Frozen Cabal. Twas a great name for such a band of bandits. Certainly better than the Mediocre Ogres.

Broth offered the next moment, courtesy of his other companion beside Brandish, in the form of a horn. Vandor grasped it, sipped the warm liquid, licked his lips. He had no wounds to heal, no morale to feel, for an amoral sellsword was often how he found himself within this world. Yet, that never meant he could not nod his head in thanks and did just then.

“This far across the spine…” Vandor sighed, chewing on memories like bacon all over again. He did not meet either companion’s gaze, keeping his on the flames. “Once upon a time, there was a goat,” he spoke just so. “A dwarf had lost it. A precious possession to him, this goat was, given what was within the bell around its neck. A gem. So, okay, shouldn’t be hard to find, right? Just listen for the bell and whistle.” He snapped a twig in half, tossed it into the cookfire where it vanished from his vision.

“Only I spent days and nights searching for this goat on the Spine. Why? This dwarf was a noble, Ramli of Clan Something Or Other, and promised me the payment of his family that would ensure I’d need no tavern to sleep in for the rest of my days.”

That broth was warm and tasty, but the sellsword had brought his own drink, almost forgotten it until this moment. Up came a wineskin with wine in it. Its liquid did slip past his lips and it did warm his stomach before he offered it to his companions as they listened to his boring story.

“Only I found no goat. I did find bones though. So to speak.” The sellsword wiped wine from his lips. “The dwarf’s corpse was still fresh with flesh. There was a bell around her neck where she rested on a bed of stones. There was a letter in it, a message, which read: ‘I curse you, whore’. I shall spare you the details of her torture and her murder, too gruesome for the food to come, but suffice to say that the dwarf who hired me had evidently gone insane, killed his wife, and hired me to find her body, despite his own hands having placed her in this makeshift grave.” Another twig, a bigger stick, as the fire swallowed it.

“He paid me and I went on my way.” Vandor shrugged. There was utterly no discomfort on his face, as if he really was just telling some story. “This far in the Spine?” He looked around as if he might peer past the walls, and never mind the dwarf, the orc or the human. “Nope. But here I am, with two good hands and two other men fit for the task at that.” He grinned, lifted his wineskin to his lips, and swigged.

Ostrum Brandish Rodin Graveworn Karken Agatha

 

[Agatha]

The mountain passes grew colder the higher they climbed. Bitter, biting, the winds cut through Agatha's furs like a knife through warm butter. The skin around her eyes ached, but there was little she could do to prevent that. Up here, sight was one of the few senses left to her. She couldn't really hear shit, what with the wind. And the cold robbed all sense of smell.

Redbad, her Master of Scouts, didn't seem to feel it though.

As old an elf as she had ever known, the tall, lanky scout of scouts climbed the mountain slopes like a man born to it. Every now and then he would appear to check on her and the four men she had brought with her. Company men, swathed in greys and blacks and speckled white. All human, all with experience for this sort of thing. Redbad had handpicked them. Agatha trusted his judgement.

'There's a fire, up ahead.' Coming alongside the Master of Scouts, Agatha followed his outstretched hand to the heights above. Swirling snow and icy mist obscured much of what she could see. 'I'll take your word for it!'

Smiling behind her scarf, the Captain watched as Redbad dipped his head, acknowledging her words.

Following on, up, the she-orc waited for the rest of her men to gather before proceeding into the cave mouth, a hand on the hilt of her tulwar. Redbad, a ghost at her side, eased in alongside, his sharpened senses perceiving what she could not.

The crackle of a fire, the clatter of pots and pans, muted conversation between not-quite-friends.

The cave wasn't quite warm, but it was better. Peeling back her hood, Agatha kicked a loose stone into the cave ahead, announcing their presence. 'Hope we're not interrupting,' she said by way of greeting, taking in the three freelancers, their weapons and reach. Her Blackshields fanned out to either side, hands hovering near weapons as they waited for confirmation.

'Who among you goes by the name of Ostrum? Ostrum Brandish?'

Rodin Graveworn
Vandor Colton

 

[Ostrum Brandish]

Ostrum half listened to the story that Vandor did tell, sipping upon the healing drink that did soothe what aches did lurk within him gladly. He gave nod to Rodin in thanks, tossing the skin back their way as the food was prepared to completion at the moment Vandor did finish his story concerning the insane that had funded Vandor in the past. He smothered what sardonic elements that rose within him that would lash at his own sense of wisdoms as he set the pan to one side.

A stone announced the arrival of the ones they had waited for, and Ostrum forwent all matters of the culinary. He stood as if prepared to be inspected and judged, hand resting upon pommel, eyes to the cave mouth as it became host to the many that required much of them.

The question of who was asked. Ostrum answered immediate, firm in his pride. He looked direct at Agatha as he spoke, yielding all due respect to the military commander entrenched and availing against the bandit element here of the Spine, yet Ostrum remained firmly reverent to his own protocols of dignity.

"I have that honour. Sir Ostrum Brandish, knight of the Order of Enshrined Blades."

He gave salute, eyes still set upon Agatha. He recognised her by the description offered by the missive delivered in Rodin's company.

"I have been committed by my Order to support your efforts, for they bear much import to the realm. You are Captain Agatha of the Blackshields, and I am pledged to render this operation successful by all means availing. My retinue hired, one Rodin Graveworn, one Vandor Colton," Ostrum said, a lilt of the head each direction to indicate them. Eyes that still set upon the one who did set the pace of things to come.

"I have shared small detail of the martial concerns to my hirelings. Of passage that strikes dead those who advance to invade the Frozen Cabal's sanctuary directly. Fuelled by nearby wellspring, according to what source informs us both I believe. We are here to render such defences muted and useless, your forces free to march on and crush this element entire. Captain, your cause shall be attended. Our shared ends met."

Ostrum spoke for the benefit of his hirelings, as well as assure the Captain of his assigned task being understood. He would have good order from his hirelings, and he would not broker with ill fortune with a lapsed protocol.

Agatha Rodin Graveworn Vandor Colton

 

[Rodin Graveworn]

Rodin turned and stood for a moment, a short bow to the newcomers in respect and silently stood with his back towards the fireplace. He had not heard their approach, damn it. His skills had been left wanting these past few days with this cursed weather, it played on the senses. Usually he would have heard the approach of several individuals, but with the promise of food also in the mix, his attention was utterly divided. Hunger pangs once again took his attention, if only for a moment. Hard to focus while such a meal is being prepared. He thought.

He took this moment of break in conversation to sum up the newcomers. Four men, one elf and a she Ork. Rodin studied the elf, for he was most familiar with elves and humans. This one a tall and slender figure, with a sense of nobility about himself. Be it from heritage or self assured; he carried with them the poise of a trail leader no doubt had he walked these mountain paths several hundred times. His face soft if but slightly gaunt from the barrage of snow and ice on the way up.


The four company men looked sturdy enough and were notably hardened to battle. Strong looks of conviction struck Rodin with cursory glances, as they too looked about this small cave in which they had sought a repose from the ailing weather. Rodins hands relaxed from the hilt of his sword, and he stood to. Awaiting the moment they could sit down to eat.

There was however one individual Rodin had not so much experience of, and had he encountered an Ork a handful of times, it would be over estimating.

“Greetings” He mustered to the new company as Ostrum introduced both Rodin and Vandor.

A she Ork Rodin mused. He had not seen many on the isles of Sheketh. If for but a handful of times. He brought himself away from staring at the individual too long, less he cause offence, and turned his eye to the cave paintings once again. He smirked. If for but a moment, it reminded him of the tree carving he used to do as a child.

His homeland was inhabited mostly by elves and humans, who selflessly endowed the islands with strong trading routes that kept the city of Minaris alive. Given that it was built by Spellweavers, and the elvish Ephemeral Wardens; it stood still tall and proud to this day. Oh how he wished he could return and marvel at the palisades once more. Where in the glades he used to sit and practice his forms, oh what countless day and night he spent there.

Rodin motioned towards the fireplace, and allowed the weary crew to take up space around the little warmth that it offered. Whilst the she Ork and Osrtum exchanged pleasantries and spoke in hushed tongues about some matter or another, Rodin sat back and enjoyed the comfortable silence of his new company. Strength in numbers and all that. He thought. Was that Elf staring at him again? Rodin shook it off with a tussle of his cloak. Best watch that one he thought, and made note of his movements. Ever cautious, maybe Rodin was recognised by the Elf. It wouldn’t of been the first time he was given a cautionary glance by their folk.

"I have shared small detail of the martial concerns to my hirelings. Of passage that strikes dead those who advance to invade the Frozen Cabal's sanctuary directly. Fuelled by nearby wellspring, according to what source informs us both I believe. We are here to render such defences muted and useless, your forces free to march on and crush this element entire. Captain, your cause shall be attended. Our shared ends met.” Indeed Rodin knew well the plan that was to befall the defences and parties involved in such acts. Given the weather; it was unclear just how many foes had taken up garrison in such a place, but rest assured the swiftness of their combined efforts and martial prowess would make short work of those first few ill prepared and caught off guard by a coordinated offensive strike. The rest would be up to fate, and the skill of their hand.

Rodin checked his quiver, the crimson fletched arrows sat at the ready. Tips razor sharp and bolstered with armour piercing triangulated edges. He stretched his bowstring for a minute, pulling the ashen beast into recoil, he studied the weight of the draw before slowly releasing it again and placing it to rest. Yes, a few opportunities to flex his archery skills would be most advantageous. He was certain his ranged combat skills and swordsmanship would prove formidable, and given the chance he would rise to such an occasion alongside the others.

By the hands of the Gods may our fortune prevail.

Die Shize
Ostrum Brandish
Vandor Colton
Karken
Agatha

 

[Vandor Colton]

In retrospect, it wasn’t a story that was supposed to make much sense, more the musings of a man who tried to make sense with life and existence given his sentiments on ethics. There were contracts that were rather typical. Then there were jobs as odd as one could imagine. He remembered tales from someone dubbed 'witcher' which were quite unusual. However, his story was just a way to pass time while sipping wine, eyes on the fire, and never mind an insane dwarf’s dead wife.

If Vandor hadn’t simply made the story up on the spot and it had actually happened, that was.

Moving on from that, as a shrill wind came and went outside the cave, it did bring in a breeze that tickled the mercenary’s skin, played with the fur over his cloak. It wasn’t just the wind that had drawn his gaze, however, but the newcomers who entered the next moment.

Vandor didn’t budge from his position, just gently fidgeted with his twigs, his sword and shield within reach but he didn’t presently feel the need. All in all, he only knew Ostrum Brandish amid their troupe, little and less, but none had need for violence on either end of this company. Not yet.

Orc. The last orc he had treated with was an enemy, but this one did not remind him of that. The mercenary had met many members of any species who he liked as much as disliked, and that might sum up Vandor’s own person. Hate him or love him, be as indifferent to him as he was to others, he at least offered his wineskin after introductions.

“Wine?” There was yet not enough for everyone to get drunk. Fortunately this wasn’t the sellsword’s intention. It was red wine, not too sour, not too sweet, and for him it was as invigorating as his companion’s broth.

Whatever the newcomers decided with his gesture, Vandor returned his gaze to the fire, watching its flames in silence, yet listening to its crackle. The sellsword had no need to offer words unless he, well, felt the need or words were prompted by someone else's speech. Come battle, his sword would swing and sing, but at the moment perhaps his tongue wasn’t needed.

Ostrum Brandish Rodin Graveworn Karken

 

[Agatha]

'I'm sure you and your men will not let our sponsor down, Sir Ostrum.' The Captain replied, deciding to make use of the honorific, her golden eyes studying both of the knight's underlings in turn. The big one, Rodin, offered up a polite greeting, his gaze lingering longer than Agatha was comfortable with.

'Hello,' she replied, frowning as the half-man, half-giant quickly looked away.

Turning, the she-orc gestured for her men to put up their weapons. The tension in the cave fled as all thoughts turned to the warm fire, and the food on offer. 'That looks good.' A mercenary commented, gesturing to the cookfire as he moved to drop his pack by the far wall. 'That smells good!' A second chimed in, following suit. 'Any goin' spare?'

'We brought our own provisions,' Agatha reminded her men, attention flitting back to Ostrum. "Sir" Ostrum, she thought, wondering where in Arethil the Enshrined Blades hailed from. A question for later, perhaps?

Giving Redbad a familial pat on the shoulder, Agatha made to sit, her pack making for a somewhat comfortable backrest as she stretched her legs towards the fire. 'Have you been waiting long?' She asked, waving Vandor's offer away. 'No, thank you. I don't drink.'

Her men laughed at that. Even Redbad cracked a smile.

Ostrum Brandish Rodin Graveworn Vandor Colton

 

[Ostrum Brandish]

Ostrum allowed some settling of soldier's boots to rest, some mingling between his sellswords with what forces gathered from Blackshield host did arrive. He remained standing, eyes out of the cave to allow some breathing space of martial peoples as they did set about their reprieve. He considered the order of behaviours within himself, and settled to his task. There was a protective aloofness to the knight in this moment as he did peer into the darkening skies, as if he set up borders within himself to protect what he did call his own.

These soldiers seem in good spirits by such sign of laughters. Good.

He killed the yearning for silence within him and turned away from the yawning skies that carried freezing grip. A gesture of cantrip towards the cave mouth as he did pivot. A ripple of the air as a curtain invisible did draw across the cave entrance, to obscure their presence, and to retain what heat did emanate from the rising heat of everlasting timbers. Almost immediately the room became less chill for the effect, and acoustically familiar for such barrier raised.

"Vandor, serve out what vittels there be to whoever wishes, I'll cook again shortly, supplies be healthy enough for this duty," Ostrum said as he took his place around the fire. He sat down in dignified fashion, his armour well accommodating and fashioned to allow for the seiza manner of sitting. He made no indication that he would eat immediate. Such would be improper in his eyes. Words were to be levied first.

"We have not long since arrived Captain," Ostrum did say, "What hearth we have is yours to take refuge in, what nourishment we have be yours to sustain," Ostrum did say, passing the pan of foods to Vandor to dish out to those that wished, regardless of their source of employ.

"I dare not seek this wellspring that does power the defences in the encroaching darkness, Captain," Ostrum did say, keen in mentioning of title, "So we rest and await infant light of day."

Ostrum's voice shifted from address from the Captain to all within the cave. This briefing was for the benefit of all.

"The wellspring lies secluded and away from the Frozen Cabal's primary vigilance, such information born from intelligence shared from winged knightly ally. Our thanks to the Knights of Anathaeum for such cordial sharing of the battleground to come. I will lead our navigation, for I have waypoint chartered by arcane means by this same ally's efforts. Our opponent has fiercely populated this wellspring, for seclusion and concealment was not enough to assure them of it's holding."

Ostrum allowed a moment for gravitas to build behind his words. He placed a healthy respect of the danger into his words, in measure with his own bold valour. What resulted was information blended with inviting challenge, of expectations that he couldn't help but have his own sense of competition and glories to come shine through. He spoke with all assurance of those gathered, despite what risks were outlined, he seemed in proper balance between bravado and sober understanding of the risk of what was asked.

"A host of Frost Giants do await us there. Great contest awaits us all, and a yawning vulnerability in the Frozen Cabal's self assurances of safety we shall exploit. I do think they shall not expect such a surgical and fierce strike as we shall mount. Speed be vital to our element, despite the ground, there is path to find and charter. Should we be detected on our approach, we will contend with what they do throw from mountainface. Our path tomorrow be of charging combat carried, to blind the Frozen Cabals stone eyes of freezing by severing the channel of power that does give them life, so that this criminal element that has thrived here in the Spine may be vanished utterly. I have faith in you all to bring the storm of steel by fleet of foot. These giants of frost shall face us. And they shall cast down from these peaks."

Ostrum looked to his martial element, to Vandor and Rodin.

"Vandor, Rodin, if you have method of thwarting this potential barrage of rock should we be spotted by these Frost Giants, or indeed, aiding our concealment in our raid, I bid you welcome to speak of it now. I would know of every advantage that we might bring about to keep our course true before melee would thrive against them."

Vandor Colton Rodin Graveworn Agatha

 

[Rodin Graveworn]

"Vandor, Rodin, if you have method of thwarting this potential barrage of rock should we be spotted by these Frost Giants, or indeed, aiding our concealment in our raid, I bid you welcome to speak of it now. I would know of every advantage that we might bring about to keep our course true before melee would thrive against them.”

Rodin cast a gaze to Vandor, and then across to the newly acquainted troop.
“Simple creatures, these Frost Giants are they not? Alas I am no sorcerer of great things, but it may be of some benefit to try and cast a veil of altered perception. I could only cast with enough strength for more than just a few moments, it would disguise a couple of us beneath the veil so long as the enemy did not hear us. Given their somewhat simple thought process, it may be just the thing we need to get in close. Despite the fact that I have used such tactics before, I have only concealed myself and one other. I cannot say how well it would work given the number of us. I could conceal a smaller number for longer to get them in close. Or we wait for a chance to strike all at a once. I very much am here to follow your lead, Sir Ostrum. And to lend what aid I can on the battlefield. My suggestion however, would be this. We take a small party as an advance strike, under the veil they could slip through the defences and carve out a foothold for us to use. Then with the small number tucked away and hidden, I would try and conceal a second group who would follow the first up and to the muster point. Having the element of surprise then, we would be able to strike with full force and fury, from deeper within the enemy’s defences than they would of bargained for. Maybe this brings us good fortune in the chaos that would ensue. Gods willing.” He grunted and stretched out his arms with a small spark of azure tinted arcane mana that worked its way through his flesh and blood vessels tentatively wrapping itself around his fingertips. “I think I’ve a couple spells that would aid us on the battlefront. Alas the more powerful the spell, the more it drains from my life force. I cannot guarantee what state I will be in if I have to hold the veil for too long, so may I suggest the more surely footed of us take up the first ascension?”

Rodin mirrored the seiza, remembering it fondly. He soon found himself meditating on matters for the morrow. Imagining the amount of arcane power he would have to channel in order to keep this party undiscovered for the most part at least. Ostrum’s furrowed brow in contemplation was like that of a marble statue back home. Fixated on the task at hand, cheekbones glistening in the firelight and snapping of twigs.

Rodin knew many casts for combat. He had been trained well, under the watchful guise of Sir Cothrum of the Brotherhood of the Moon. He had shown himself to be highly proficient in all elemental aspects of casting, particularly fire and spirit. Which, given that his homeland was rich in volcanic activity, and Elves who would often tell Rodin of ancient spiritual curses or beings that inhabited the islands; was of no surprise. His martial skills were most formidable tho, showing a penchant for blade work, his teachers had him study the seven forms even before he was allowed to train formally and enter the temples. But once he set foot inside and began training with the elders, his skillset truly evolved into a deadly concoction of long blade, short blade, ranged weapons, and the secret art of the Brotherhood hand to hand combat. The youth in the city would often heckle and call them “Dark Knights” because of their drab clothing or “Warrior monks” Both made Rodin smile, for he was a Knight in the Brotherhood of the Moon… back then at least.

It all seemed so petty now. He meditated: Too many high ranking officers with their own agendas with too little faith in the wrong Gods, asking too much of their fellow men. He could feel himself becoming more worked up as he thought about it, and let out a long, contemplative sigh.
All is good, and well, with me. I am open and receptive to all that is good and understood. He repeated the mantra until the hairs on the back of his neck settled down. Gone were those days now, he was seeking new fortune and friendships long the road. And these fine gentlemen - and woman… would make for exceptional company.

The fact that there was some action on the horizon was something he looked forward to. Battle carried with it a particular lustre, one of which no coin could compensate. It drew the wheat from the chaff. The wheat from the chaff indeed.

Vandor Colton Ostrum Brandish Agatha

 

[Vandor Colton]

Wine offered, politely denied, orc said she didn’t drink, her quarry laughed at that, and all was fine in this company. The mercenary remained laying comfortably, and given the places he had rested in throughout his adventures he had long since learned to make comfort rather than find it and be content with it. The fire was warm, the food beckoning him to it as it cooked, and the knight who spoke to him did so at a good time.

“As you command, Sir Ostrum Brandish.” Spoken in no tone of sarcasm but in good spirits. “It is as good a time to dine as it is to die.” Vandor half meant those words in jest as he began to set those vittles onto plates, making sure to add an extra rasher or two of bacon to his own plate, but he served himself last and the others first if they wanted it amid their own provisions.

While mouths gave way to more talk, Vandor ate and listened, first slipping a slice of bacon between his teeth, then a forkful of potato, and a bite of egg that was all washed down with a sip of water. The wine would be saved for later.

Knights of Athenaeum. Wellsprings. Frozen Cabal. Frost giants. It certainly wasn’t every day that this particular mercenary went out of his way to fight those things. Giants were one thing in their own right. Frost giants? Vicious creatures. They could be anyway. He had met a friendly community as much as a pack not so friendly. Rather like anything and anybody in this world, really. Though his memory was hazy.

More importantly, Vandor Colton had met Ostrum Brandish, a man who made mean meat when it came to bacon. What is it? Vandor wondered as much about that as the task at hand. Is it the cooking time? Greased skillet? Pinch of salt? It was delicious, however Ostrum did it. That was truly what mattered and kept the merc in good spirit as discussion led to tactics.

“I am no sorcerer,” the sellsword caught himself, washing down the contents in his mouth before speaking further. “Sellsword. Spellsword. Whatever. I can crack rock with thunder but these giants will be doing that to us already if we are discovered. Too close to the edge, however, and lightning's might may yet make them fall. I do like the idea of hiding our approach for a surprise strike though.”

The spellsword took a mighty bite of sausage at that, chewing on his thoughts. “I move well enough armed and armored but speed and agility are not my priorities if any of us are better suited to movement. At the moment, all I can muster for words is that, spotted or not, we do not move clustered. We spread out to reduce how many these frosties can target, no differently than stones thrown from trebuchets, and remember that nooks and crannies within the rockface can provide some cover much like mantlets in sieges.” He shrugged. “Just as another comparison.”

Vandor took another sip of water, another bite of vittles for vigor. “Tasty bacon as always by the way, Sir Ostrum.”

Ostrum Brandish Rodin Graveworn Karken

 

[Agatha]

'The Chrysanthemums are a capable bunch. I trust their reconnoitre of the Cabal's position was as thorough as ours would have been, had we the means to get close without becoming food for the crows.' Dipping her head in recognition of the feat, Agatha listened as Rodin and Vandor spoke, sharing with the Blackshields what knowledge there was to be had.

Most of it they already knew, of course, but it was nice to know they would be working with consummate professionals.

'I'm afraid I have nothing to add. No magic or particular talents.' Redbad coughed, his eyes digging into her back. 'This lot, however, are more than qualified when it comes to cracking open well-fortified positions.' With an easy smile, the Captain cast her gaze about the cave. 'Raniel and Oswald, for instance, are both "spellswords," well-versed in the arts of invocation and geomancy.'

The mercenaries, one of elven heritage, the other human, both nodded as the collective turned to face them.

'As for the fellow standing behind me, his name is Redbad, Master of Scouts.' The old elf grinned as he bowed his head, his hair top-knotted, drawn back from his skull. 'Sers!' Returning to his silent vigil, the elf watched through hooded eyes as Agatha introduced the last of her brethren. 'Fleece and Hopeless. First century men. Real shitbags when it comes to making them do an honest day's work,' they laughed, enjoying the attention, and the dig. 'But in an unfair fight, you'll find no two better suited when it comes to cutting threads.'

Allowing the information time to settle, Agatha sank down, low against her pack and bedroll. Smiling still, the she-orc directed her next words to the knight of their company. 'All are at your disposal, ser,' she said humbly. 'Get us inside, disrupt the Wellspring's flow, and my cohort shall do the rest!'

Ostrum Brandish Rodin Graveworn Vandor Colton

 

[Ostrum Brandish]

Better bracing to the circumstance could not be asked for, Ostrum did think, as words delivered by all met extensive expectations. He listened dutifully to each report of capacity, mulling over potentials as he heard good report of ability to contend with the awaiting moments. What dangers did exist on the advance slightest his audacity less for such confident talk of rendering those dangers moot and muted. It was enough to render his movement assured that he was in good company, relaxed almost.

To harbour tensions before the moment that would demand much could exhaust one so, Ostrum had learned both academically and first hand. He looked to those that gathered in the presence of such imperative.

His eyes to each that promised much. Moneys had secured their loyalty. Yet their word did much to earn their place in the battle tomorrow. Weapons nestled in their scabbards, the wit that carried them would contend with what fortune had in store. Ostrum thought enough pledged in darkness of night that grew. Promises made, they were theirs to keep. Doubt had no welcome place within him, such a guest knew it had no warrant or right to the traffic of his mind. Such was an exhaustion unto itself, a tarnishing of good faith and endragging force to flexible zeal. Drilled out of him by victory, burned away by understanding of what he had become by his pledges and oaths.

Ostrum's vision met was one of faith in himself in the face of all future promises kept and all fortunes dashed. There was no binary between victory and defeat within him. There was only faith towards success, acceptance of perils, which by each life gathered, would aid by what degree and ease that success would arrive. In his face looked a man that would scale the mountain and drag banner upon that peak alone with determination, looking only to others to see if they had the stamina to tread in his wake, for want of their presence in the glory of victory, not in dependence of their faculty to the struggle. Each would be demanded by foe and environment enough, and to Ostrum, their pledge and hallmarks of professionalisms was enough to secure his own faith.

Having met each person's eye and fixed his soul to his knowing of their word promising their application of talent to the task tomorrow, did he close his eyes and nod, arms folding as if forming accord with fate.

A moment as the warming of the cave grew more insistent, low glow illuminating all in reds as it did it's own duty.

Eyes opened, and inhalation, as if resolved to all things. Arms relaxed, Ostrum spoke precious few words, all others of business being spoken.

"All shall be done true. We are set. By pledge spoken, is our task secured in time. Tomorrow, we are about it with such talents in mind, such capacities spoken true. My thanks for such candid report. Now, let us rest and settle. Tomorrow makes it's demands in due time. Let us exist in the space between glories freely and at ease."

At ease spoken in such a way, ease meant for Ostrum listening to others who might bring up conversation with fellow comrade. He had said enough he did think. To over spice the recipe of morale was an exhaustion all it's own to soldiers. One who spoke too much of what was to be done sometimes robbed vigours from tomorrow, he thought, thinking if there such was a knightly maxim he had read long ago or if he had thought it fresh.

He set about his sleeping arrangements, sword placed against the wall within reach as bedroll unfurled with a quiet dignity and organisation of matters. He sat upon it, draining some water, some vittels passed in due time. He did eat to his content.

His eyes set to the warmth of the logs as he receded his authority to allow his mind to perform it's compunction to his vows and oaths, reciting them internal as if lovingly rereading a book. He glanced to those that might carry the conversation as muscles that drove against the frozen mountain did settle to rest, listening with a quietude that allowed others to be speak and be heard.

Rodin Graveworn Vandor Colton Agatha

 

[Rodin Graveworn]

Redbad that was his name. Rodin thought to himself as Agatha introduced her cohort. The tied back hair and facial features were like that of a friend he had known back in Sheketh.

“Armihr?” He whispered under his breath. Dutifully looking around to make sure no one had heard him, he turned his gaze back to the fireplace where the dancing fingers of flames played tentatively amongst the magic infused logs. It was dropping considerably in temperature now, as the evening drew in. Small flurries of snow made their way into the mouth of the cave and nestled itself into the corners, watching the group with an eerie silence.

Rodin took out his pipe for one last moment before slumber was upon them, an evening of good conversation, a hearty meal, a warm fire and the evening was complete. He sat in contemplative silence for a moment, drawing a sweet smelling tobacco and datura through the pipe, igniting it with a cantrip of his forefinger and thumb.

“So tomorrow then.” He began with an outstretch of his arms, and brought them behind his head whilst smoke gently fell from his nostrils. He noticed the combined look of deep concentration on many a face within the room and let out a long sigh. “At your disposal we are.”

He made a brief smile, motioned towards the scars that plagued his body from countless skirmishes and nodded in acceptance of his fate. Be it victory or defeat, his body and mind were prepared for warfare. The smoke for him was a catalyst for thought and a preparation before battle, an ancient ritual that cleansed the body ready for its ascension to the spirit plane if he should fall in combat. Drawing long, slow breaths of the tobacco and datura, offered it out to those around him with reverence, he motioned to Agatha;

“Respectfully, since you do not drink I take it datura is also something you wish not to partake in?” There was a moment of stifled laughter from one of the group, as the effects were quite potent.

Over the fireplace it began to take effect, altering shades of violet and azure, forming spiritual figures as they danced over the glowing embers. Rodin closed his eyes for a moment and let the images burn into his mind as he meditated his victory over foes tomorrow. He could almost see the blade within his hands and ready to strike within his minds eye. Concentrating on his breathing he listened to the sounds of those around him, their breathing and shuffles as they made set their sleeping arrangements. The gentle snore of one of the Spellswords as they slept.

Before the gentle grasp of slumber took effect, Rodin’s thoughts slowly turned to prayer…

I give my life to serve and pray. For in the light of Lessat and the moon Goddess do my transgressions show. Hear me now as I prepare for battle once again, may my foes know swift justice and my strike be true. Guide my hand. Guard my heart. Grant me peace of mind to do what must be done.

Ostrum Brandish Vandor Colton Agatha

 

[Vandor Colton]

Vandor was glad to have something to snack on as he digested the words of his company. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but there was something about learning the talents of others that he found pleasing. Mercenaries. Rangers. Knights. It didn’t matter. He had met all types of characters with all kinds of calibers. He just liked the variety and knowing who would be having his back as much as he had theirs when the shit hit the wind.

Master of Scouts. That sounded as promising as this bacon tasted. Fleece. Hopeless. He couldn’t help but grin at those monikers. Though, maybe they were genuine names. When you traveled the lands like he did you tended to come across some oddities. Reminded him of one man named Bucket. That was his birthname but anyway.

The time of talk had ended. The time of rest had begun. Ostrum had a way with words about it, as always. Where Vandor would have simply said ‘Let’s turn in’ he was instead treated with poetic endeavor. It did give him fervor quite like Rodin’s broth and his own wine. Space between glorious freely and at ease…

Vandor chewed on those words amid the remnants of his nourishment. More vittles amid bacon finished. He pushed his plate aside, too lazy to clean it at the moment. The deed would be done come morning amid the bloody business of a sellsword like him. He wasn’t alone though. He had more than Ostrum Brandish with him.

In the moments that followed, as someone given to conversation around a fire in a cave like this, Vandor could also just as much be given to quiet. He was the man at the bar in a tavern, singing drinking songs with drunken strangers whether he was drunk or not. He also the man in the corner table, eating by himself, listening to musical fables.

He could smoke a pipe. He could drink his wine. Instead, his bedroll unfurled and taking his form into it, Vandor listened to others in silence. He heard the snore of the spellsword; the crackle of flame bright as summer’s day; the words of Rodin with datura offered; but Colton’s gaze was trained on that flame.

He wondered if it was the appropriate moment to bring out his book. He didn’t often read but he always carried a book. Maybe he ought to inscribe his thoughts into its pages. Try his hand at poetry like Brandish. Or simply sleep.

Yet, as evening descended, all the sellsword did was gaze at the flames. The fire took him in. A cookfire for the ages. Vandor saw nothing beyond them. He would sleep and, if he dreamed, he wondered if he would wake, or if the burning desert would take him beyond this frozen cave.

Ostrum Brandish Rodin Graveworn Agatha

 

[Agatha]

'You assume correctly,' replied Agatha, never one to "partake" before a fight. It wasn't uncommon for soldiers to indulge themselves a little before heading into danger. Some men drank, to steel their nerves. Others ingested hallucinogens and mutagens in order to make up for their shortcomings, or else in order to blot out the horrors of war. Agatha had seen enough in her short time wandering Arethil to understand why they did it.

'I normally wait until after the job is done, if it's all the same to you,' she smiled. 'Perhaps then?'

Settling into an easy silence, the Captain made sure the rest of her men had eaten before grabbing a plate for herself. Bacon, eggs and cheese, and a skinful of clean drinking water to wash it down with.

Shrugging out of her armour, Agatha delegated the watch duties to Redbad. The elderly scout reckoned they were safe enough, hidden by magic as they were, but he did not argue the fact in front of the others. 'Fleece, you have the first,' he said, as blunt as ever. 'Raniel, the second. The third watch is mine.' Nodding, the mercenaries went about settling in for the night. Quiet conversation filled the small cave, and for a time Agatha found herself content just to listen to them talk.

I wonder how the rest of the cohort is getting on? She thought idly, watching the shadows dance across the cave wall.

The fire dimmed.

Closing her eyes, the she-orc surrendered herself to sleep.

Ostrum Brandish Rodin Graveworn Vandor Colton

 

[Ostrum Brandish]

Watch set, pledges made to the task, darkness gave what rest it afforded with choirs of howling winds as lullaby. What heat lurked within the enchanted lumber gave out it's comforts as chests rose and fell from comforts afforded. The outside gales did fail to invade with cold refrains from dutiful barrier thrown up to ward against the climate. As first light arrived, so did the impetus to act in those cave sheltered, rising as sure as that sunlight did.

Plans arranged and agreed, footsteps into the leeching chill made with proper courage and acceptance of what might be even if fortune was as favourable as it felt generous enough to be.

Looks of assuredness. Trust in the competence gathered.

Across the snow they made, proper cautions acted. Blades drawn in this calm before unsheathing with lethal intent to come as to prevent arrest from frigid touch. Vittels consumed solemnly with much burning action lurking in the muscle. Formations and arcane weave wreathed at proper juncture, patterns in the snow obscured from advantaged eyes.

Eyes born of giants.

Eyes that scanned the ever mounting white without fear of blindness, eyes that could wrench animals clean and crisp from their natural blending and shyness to being seen. A rabbit of white fur under a two hundred feet away noted, the rabbit staring direct at the watchers of the mountain.

Pale blues that narrowed at the shimmering of winds in suspicions.

The wellspring mouth guarded by four giants of frost, long bearded, vast biting blades of axe and broadsword resting in the gleaming light, frost touched by magic and weathers embraced. Scale of drake about their armour, white and impervious to that ice blast breath of the slain dragon delivered against them that they wore. Low talk of mundane matters, old stories regaled with the momentous slowness of a distant avalanche. These days of guarding gave much gravitas to the tales for need of slaying dull moments. Each telling of the story a further detail, a further embellishment of the fierceness of the dragons slain, the stupidity of the previous interlopers. Of wellspring protected, of gear acquired by bloody deeds.

Pale shimmerings of ghostly light escaped the mouth of the cave, iridescent portents of what fuelled the traps to the Cabal proper. As if they were the voice of the mountain itself, they gave shrill update as sinister flutes might. The ice giants were well acquainted to such accompaniment to their stories. Those who lurked within the cave heard such things not, for they such sounds were joys and horrors of escaping font of power rather than the convalescing potencies that did give energy to death bound tread.

The stories unfurled as they were want to, luxurious and endless time to indulge.

"With wing spanning as wide as it's ambition, it loomed for long moments, before crashing down terrible and quakeful in tread, breaking ice clasped vicious under talons digging into our vessel. My axe in hand and raised in challenge, I looked it within it's eyes and knew, I knew then-"

A pause longer than the normal dramatics. Three sat, one standing, the tallest looking out at shimmering oddness of the freezing rising mountain as the invaders made concealed approach. Those waiting for the story to continue looked awaiting for the story, seemingly held in trance by the story, snapped out by frown by the standing.

"What do you peer at?"

The cave gave emanation of shrillness. A gesture to pass ammunition.

A boulder the size of the frost giant's head, vast, weighty, pawed to the one standing. Passed between vast mitts that considered the mirage unfamiliar. If it was worth breaching the white, worth endangering the stillness of white.

A rabbit born to the snow tucked it's ears away and darted between legs that it did not see. Those had gathered in the cave, rousing to this task of assaulting the wellspring.

Ostrum felt the rabbit pass between his feet, confused and panicked and quickened by startling brush of legs that powered across the threshold between their approach and their combat.

Vast arms drew back boulder to crook of shoulder, and hurled it where panicked rabbit had startled. Such things were seen.

Ostrum understood artillery well enough to know that it would obliterate any of them complete should it descend true. A quick dart from previous location, a hand thrown behind him to indictate to move away from his position, a hurrying of soldiering feet. The stone made low looming tone has it was lobbed, growing larger with dreadful speed and certainty.

Magics concealing their approach so far, would it withstand complete the introduction of such munitions?

Ostrum felt the rush of air as the boulder landed and rolled past and behind him with fatal whirring, snow spinning wild from it's bounding path created. Himself unsure if there was someone who replaced his place, if his gesture had been enough, silence kept for want of maintaining their concealment.

The frost giants all stood.

In admiration of the caber toss?

Or in alert of magics disturbed?

In either case of matters, more boulders were mustered, encouraged by the first ejection of stone alone as a new past time or by interloper revealed.

The result was the same.

Ostrum knew not if the magics were disturbed, but drew steel slow regardless and pressed on, expecting more, expecting no less, and powered on as the distance closed...and the four ice giant guards, towers of muscle and white drake armour hurled the very mountain down at Ostrum and his companions.

The rabbit fled with all the speed the attackers lacked as the stones did rise above the sun's home in the horizon to eyes of the attackers, looming terrible, howling low, before descending and crashing down to reveal and end what might find themselves unlucky.


Rodin Graveworn Vandor Colton Agatha

 

[Rodin Graveworn]

Freezing wind biting into the crevices of his armour, fingers of icy residue on his beard, Rodin marched fourth. Following his companions his focus solely on the incantation spell to keep them hidden from the frost giants for as long as he could muster. In this weather back home wolves would come down from the mountains to hunt. Trees would be split in two from the heavy frost. It felt almost too cold to snow.

The boulder toss was indeed a close call and if they wanted to be within striking distance there was still some ground to cover, the pace had to quicken. Given the footing upon the mountainside it favoured a more cautious approach, one could easily become unstuck and fall to a grave covered with nothing but snow and ice.

Not knowing if the boulder throw was aimed directly at the more not, Rodin took no chances. He drew his longsword, blade glinting in the afternoon sun, frost whipped around and clung to its razor sharp edge as he raised his arm to increase the strength of his cast.

“We must hurry else we be discovered. I do not know how long I can keep this incantation up!” He called into the wind, praying someone had heard him amongst the howls of snow and ice.

He was read for bloodshed. As they closed their distance, another boulder was hurled into the air and matched the others trajectory, crashing into the mountainside behind them with a thundering malice. At least is seemed the giants were focused on besting each other and not locked onto their position. He thought.

As their distance closed, the scale of the giants were apparent. Even at Rodin’s height, the smallest of the group stood a good head and shoulder above him. Their armour and giant muscles seemed to cover them entirely. It was a matter of sizing these up and finding obvious areas of vulnerability. He had never encountered these beasts before, but an obvious chink in the armour was below the chin, a large artery exposed would render a swift blow victorious undoubtedly.

Taking shelter behind an outcrop of rock, the last of his mana was expelled. Exhausted from casting, he rested a moment, whilst the rest of the line caught up and huddled around in a fighting formation. They were out of view and a stones throw away from the giants now. An arrow could easily reach, spear easily thrown.

“This is as far as I can get us without detection.” He sighed. Was it enough?

Ostrum Brandish Vandor Colton Agatha

 

[Vandor Colton]

He slept. He dreamt. He tended to dream, over and over again, though whether Vandor would admit it in public was another matter, and generally depended on present company. Knights? Rangers? Mercenaries? Other sellswords of his caliber? Perhaps, but none of them were women who would bed him and keep him warm within this frozen hell, so he didn’t.

Yet he did dream, and he did seek the elk in the forest, did see the eel in the sea, see the eagle in the sky and the rabbit in the snow. Though, the latter was misplaced and made him grimace. Maybe he winked in his sleep but Vandor could no longer conjure his position amid his predicament.

He saw only the rabbit, and the rabbit was placid, yet the rabbit was ravenous, and it hid malice within its teeth like frost giants did in the deep crevices of jagged ranges mountainous and treacherous.

He and his companions, woken to words worth their weight in ice, did traverse the frigid depths wherein the world was cradled within glacial length. Their enemy had strength. The hardened party represented a tenth of theirs at best. Yet they went. Together in breath. As one within this breadth. Come the thunder of the welkin as stones were thrown.

Incantations delivered lest they be discovered. Thunder given to deflect a misplaced boulder toward their position by Vandor’s blade. Bolder, they became, knowing that these giants had done nothing to deter these adventurers from slaying them if it came to it.

Under cover with his companions, sword in hand and shield on arm, Vandor Colton, the sellsword, the spellsword, was ready for the hell that comes. Yet he had no no bow and arrow, no crossbow for that matter, and was not trained in the ways of magical projectiles, which mattered.

“Recommend I find a way behind them with at least three others,” Vandor suggested. “Ambush them at their backs. We need only limited numbers. Those who assault them from the front or harass them with spear and arrow from this position will break their focus.”

Granted, he was no military strategist or siege technician; just a man with experience in sieges and wall assaults.

Ostrum Brandish Rodin Graveworn Karken